


Ridin' Shotgun

by geckoholic



Series: kink bingo fills [11]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Police, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Dick's got his attention now, and he's developing an idea to make this stakeout a little less boring.





	Ridin' Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sizna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sizna/gifts).



> Written to go with [THIS](https://crow-sizna.tumblr.com/post/163026535758/more-dicknighter-because-i-love-that-pairing) wonderful drawing, as promised many moons ago. Hella late, but hey, it happened eventually. ;) And it's a fill for the _teasing_ square on my season of kink card. 
> 
> Unbetad because sometimes 1 AM finds me reckless, so all mistakes are most definitely mine.
> 
> Title is from "Wanted Man" by Mat Kearney.

The sound of the hard rain hitting the roof of the car is so loud that Dick can hardly hear his own thoughts. Not like there's all that much going on in there at this point, anyway; they've been out here for the better part of the night, he hadn't slept much the day before either, and it only took him a few weeks into the job to decide that stakeouts _suck_. They're one of things that about police work that aren't at all like those stupid procedural on TV would have you think. They're even more boring, mind-numbingly boring, and most of the time also a complete waste of time. M said he could get some sleep, if he'd like, it'd be enough if one of them keeps watch, but Dick always did have more pride than common sense. If M can sit here all night and stare at an abandoned storefront, then so can he. No problem whatsoever. He'll deal with it. 

Except now it's 5:30 AM and he's both tired beyond words and so wired he's pretty sure he won't sleep for another day or two, and it almost feels a little bit like being high. Or what Dick guesses being high would be like, at least. It's not like growing up in the public eye from the age of nine – _boy only survivor of tragic accident, boy taken in by playboy millionaire, boy never again to take a single step without at least two cameras on him_ – left him with much privacy. Raunchy college adventures were something he heard about, not something he participated in, to avoid the scandal. And then later, at the police academy... well, self-explanatory. 

Anyway, he looks out the window, at the droplets of rain sliding down the glass, and he's pretty sure he's nearing that point where simply being tired turns into being so sleep-deprived he's developing a bonafide medical condition were he can smell sounds and hear colors. He closes his eyes and stars dance in his vision, a whole rainbow swirl of them, and – 

The door opens, and Dick startles so badly he hits his elbow on the door handle. He curses and turns, glaring at M, who's ducking back into the car with an obnoxious self-satisfied grin and throws a greasy brown paper bag into the back seat. 

Dick follows it's arch onto the dirty blue fabric of the seats and whines. “Why'd you throw them back there? I could eat.” 

“You could always eat,” M says, and the slow, vaguely annoyed glance up Dick's body tells him that he's biting down on another complaint about how unfair it is that Dick eats pretty much constantly and still manages to maintain a body like an ancient Greek statue. They've been over that. It _really_ bugs him. And Dick finds that _really_ funny. He'll never again be able to hear the words _some people have to work for it_ and not dissolve into mad cackling. 

And while the sandwiches smell nice, Dick isn't quite hungry enough to bend around and fish for them. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns. 

“Told you, I don't mind if you catch some shut eye,” M says and sighs, but Dick doesn't miss the way the other's eyes fall to the small stripe of skin that gets revealed with the movement; he undid his shirts hours ago, when it was still blazing hot and not chill and raining. Bludhaven weather is like that. 

Another thing Dick decided pretty early on in his police career, thanks to M, happens to be that fucking your partner despite his seniority is definitely a rule worth breaking. He catches M's gaze and grins, and M's eyebrows shoot up. But Dick's got his attention now, and he's developing an idea to make this stakeout a little less boring. It's raining cats and dogs anyway. They can't see shit out there.

He stretches upwards once more and then lowers his arms, resting his hands on his crotch, one palm accidentally-on-purpose laid out directly over his cock where it's tucked away low against his stomach. He shifts in his seat, pressing down, also accidentally-on-purpose, and moans at the pressure. 

M's expression remains stony. His safe control can be truly expressive. His gaze, however, remains pinned to Dick's middle. “Please tell me you didn't mean for that to happen.” 

“For what to happen?” Dick asks, innocent lilt to his voice, and presses again. 

M curses, places both of his own hands on his thighs, pressing down, staunchly not moving further south. “You should not be doing that.” 

“Mhh-hmm,” moans Dick as he presses a little harder, head leaned back against the headrest, eyes fluttering closed. 

He doesn't have to see M to know he's digging his nails into the flesh of his thighs to hold onto his self-control by now; the scrape of them on the cheap fabric of the uniform gives him away. “Are you actively trying to get us fired?”

“Nope.” Dick opens his eyes and turns his head, grins at M, unbuckles, his belt, and pulls down the zipper on his pants to reveal bright red boxes and the clearly visible outline of his erection underneath. 

That results in more soft curses from the driver's seat and a deep inhale. “Oh good. Kinda seems that way though.” 

Dick dances his fingertips over the outline of his cock under the fabric, teasing the head, directing M's attention to the small wet spot already gathering there. “Then tell me to stop.” 

He does no such thing. He leans over to pull Dick into a deep, filthy kiss, and at the same time pushes Dick's hand away in order to replace it with his own. Dick doesn't have to play up his long, throaty moan in response; M's fingers are experienced and clever, and he didn't need much time at all to figure out how Dick wants to be treated, to find the perfect mix of gentleness and force. 

Dick lifts his dress shirt so he can reach up to pinch and play with a nipple, give himself a counterpoint to the pleasure growing in his groin. With the other arm, he hauls M closer, caressing the short, spiky hair at the edge of his undercut. “Touch me,” he whines, nonsensical, because M's already kneading him through his boxers. But it's not enough. “Please. Please, touch me.” 

M inclines his head, and it's his turn to shoot Dick a vicious shark grin. He might have a smidgen more discipline than Dick, courtesy of years on the force, but once he's on board, he gives as good as he gets. He peels the boxers down agonizingly slow, his fingers brushing against Dick's hard length a lot more than necessary in the process. Eventually, he tugs the boxers down so the band rests just beneath Dick's balls, pushing them up, a tease in itself, and gives Dick's erection a long, harsh stroke. 

“Like this?” he asks, voice hoarse with amusement and arousal. 

“Yes,” Dick breathes out. “Yes, fuck, like that.” 

Which, of course, means that M promptly changes tack. Instead of continuing to stroke him, he brushes his thumb against the underside of Dick's cockhead, playing with the frenulum, before he works it up to the slit and spreads the precome that's dripping from it. Dick moans, rocks his hips up in a silent – but nevertheless urgent – demand for more. 

And at the end of the day, M isn't exactly the patient type either. He takes firm hold of Dick's cock, other hand pressing against himself, and starts jerking him, quick and hard and _amazing_ , kissing him again and stealing his breath. The rough handling, and combined the knowledge the only things keeping them from visible to anyone passing the car are the heavy rain and the condensation of their ragged breath fogging up the windows, serves to make Dick unravel pretty fast. 

Then M breaks the kiss in order to nip at Dick’s earlobe, breathe filthy nothings against his neck, detailing how he’ll take Dick back to his place and lay him out on his bed and not allow him any release for hours, in retaliation for this little game, and Dick comes with a start, rocking his hips up into M's grip, stomach muscles rippling with the force of it. 

M laughs at him, laughs into his skin, warm breath tickling his suddenly hyper-sensitive nerves. He rubs his palm against Dick's cockhead again, the pressure on his spent cock making Dick hiss, and pulls his boxers back up to cover him. He wipes his hand on Dick's ruined boxers and pats his thigh. 

“Have fun with that mess until Fernandez and Smith arrive to relieve us,” he mocks, shaking his arm to look at his wrist watch. “In about three hours.” 

Dick frowns, glaring him down, but he's too sated, too content and relaxed to really mean it. He does nod at M's own crotch, still covered, but unmistakably also still at half-mast. “Yeah,” he says, grinning back. “You too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
